Then she straightened, meeting the legate head-on.
“Praefect Viridia,” Tarchun greeted with a slick smile. His armour gleamed in the torchlight as he plucked off his red-plumed helmet and tossed it towards Ennius. The praefect caught it with a scowl, but Tarchun, oblivious—or uncaring—of his right hand’s disdain, didn’t so much as glance at him.
The legate stood with shoulders back and chin lifted, basking in the moment. “You’ve returned and are already leaving so soon? I had a feeling the Tirynthians would reconsider once we threatened to wipe out the villages.”
Katell’s eyes narrowed. “There was no need to go to such lengths. I would have escaped eventually.”
Tarchun scoffed, closing the distance, the press of soldiers behind him making it clear he felt untouchable. “Don’t be so naïve. The First is already on its way. Those villages were doomed whether you were released or not.”
Her stomach twisted. She pictured flames, screaming, the charred remains of homes. So many innocent lives would be lost. She set her shoulders, refusing to look away. “The Tirynthians honoured your deal. Call the cohort back.”
“Oh? And why would I do that?” He leaned in, close enough that the sour reek of wine hit her nose. “You forget your place,praefect. You were sent here because your loyalty was questioned, and now look at you—back without a scratch.”
Katell’s jaw tightened. “What are you implying?”
A cruel glint lit his shimmering Amazon eye. “Only those with good intentions can pass through the barrier.” His tone sharpened. “You no longer consider Tiryns—or its people—your enemy.”
Her breath caught. The people inside—Alena, Nik… He was right. Her sister wasn’t the enemy. Neither were the Black Helmets. Not even Dorias. The realisation sank like a stone in her chest.
Her once-clear allegiances had blurred into something far more complicated.
Around them, soldiers shifted, closing in like wolves tightening their circle.
Katell’s hand went to her sword, but before steel cleared leather, silvery-purple light flared. Pinaria’s magic surged outwards, a shimmering dome sealing her, Arnza, Katell, and the horse inside its protective shell.
The soldiers froze, eyes wide, awe and confusion etched across their faces. Even Tarchun faltered, smugness slipping. Ennius stayed back, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Tarchun was quick to reclaim his swagger, stepping forward with renewed bravado. “The Emperor will be pleased when he learns how I exposed you as a traitor and secured Tiryns.”
Katell tilted her head, weighing his words. “So… Emperor Tarquinius doesn’t know about the deal? Or the villages you’re burning?”
A flicker crossed Tarchun’s face—subtle but telling. He’d acted on his own. His smirk snapped back into place, and he let out a derisive snort. “Of course not. The Emperor’s attention is on the slave rebellion in Dodona. The First was sent to crush it, and a cohort was dispatched here as a precaution. I chose to put them to better use.”
Crush it?
Katell’s stomach clenched, but there was no time to dwell on Leywani as Tarchun’s men closed in. The first rays of sunlight carved long shadows across the wooden beams. Behind her, Arnza and Pinaria stood unwavering, shielded by the luminous dome.
Her pulse hammered as she scanned the advancing soldiers. Her voice sliced through the thick air, cold and relentless.
“You sent five hundred men to raid the countryside and slaughter defenceless villagers?”
Tarchun’s smirk stretched wider, the eerie gleam of his Amazon eye catching the dim light. “They’re rebels in the making,” he spat. “The legions do what’s necessary to maintain order. You, of all people, should understand that.”
“Achaea is an imperial province,” Katell shot back. “Those people are under the Emperor’s protection.”
“Not when they still worship the Twelve!” he bellowed, face flushing crimson, veins pulsing in his neck. “No matter how many temples we burn or priests we kill, they cling to their weak gods and refuse to bow to Laran.”
Katell’s lips curved in icy contempt. “You call them weak.” She stepped boldly beyond Pinaria’s barrier. Tarchun’s smugness faltered, and he recoiled. “And yet you implanted the eye of an Amazon in yourself—a Gift from the Huntress.”
For a heartbeat, shock flashed across his face before rage roared to the surface. “The eye was a reward from the Emperor himself!” Spittle flew from his lips. “My brother and I were honoured after we rounded up those barbaric Amazons following the war. And now, I get to bring him a traitorous praefect—Laran’s Chosen.” His tone dripped with cruel satisfaction. “Do you know what the Emperor will do to you? He won’t be finished until Vanth herself arrives to drag you to the underworld?—”
Katell moved before he could finish. She seized the front of his gleaming armour, yanking him close. With her other hand, she ripped a dagger from her belt.
“Then why don’t you meet her first?” she hissed, each word sharp with venom.
In one ruthless motion, she drove the blade deep into Tarchun’s prized Amazon eye. The orb ruptured under her strike, blood spurting in thick streams, coating her hand and his face.
Tarchun let out an agonised, bloodcurdling scream. His hands clawed at the ruined socket as he crumpled, his cries echoing through the stables, drowning the gasps of the surrounding soldiers.
